Billy Darley
by Fosterchild
Summary: Billy hates remembering but so many things remind him. WARNING ... excessive language. Leave a review ... good or bad.


Thanks to Laura for the challenge and big hugs and kisses to my baby for always encouraging me to keep writing and making me feel like I'm the best writer in the world even though I'm crap!  xxx

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**Billy Darley**

"_No, Daddy. Please! I'll be good. I promise!" Billy cried as the belt came down on his back. _

_He wished he could pull away and run but his hands were tied to the chair in the kitchen and he knew he'd have to take his punishment like always._

Billy's lip twitched a little as he remembered. Every fucking time someone begged him for mercy, he remembered.

He hated how those pussies sounded, reminding him of what a pussy he had been. Whining and crying and begging. But he learned, didn't he?

It didn't take long for him to learn to keep his mouth shut and to block out the feel of leather ripping open his skin. After awhile, his back was so calloused and scarred, he almost couldn't feel it. Almost.

Over the years, Billy toughened up physically and mentally.

But that fucking pleading that came along with enforcing his code of conduct drove him crazy. He almost got off on it; making those fuckers feel what he'd felt most of his life … scared, hurt, humiliated. He almost welcomed the disrespect so he could make them pay. He wondered sometimes if his father had gotten as much pleasure from hearing him cry as he did from his victims crying.

Even these bitches that always seemed to be lurking around. Fucking weak.

Billy didn't even care for sex all that much. It just reminded him of more humiliation … his father calling him a fag at 15 because he never hung around girls, dragging him out to the streets and handing him over to some hooker he knew to 'make him a man.'

The girls who fucked Billy Darley were sluts like his mother with her sneaking around while his father did his brief stints in prison. It didn't matter to her that her two boys were right there and could see everything.

Sluts, all of them, fucking their way to the top. By the time they got to Billy they were well used and he made sure they were completely destroyed when he was done with them.

He wouldn't know a nice girl if he tripped over one. And a nice girl wouldn't even glance in his direction. Sex was just a means to an end that he could accomplish by himself faster and with less aggravation.

Billy's Mustang was the one thing he acquired that he was proud of. It was his prize … the car and the satisfaction that the fuck who owed him money wouldn't be walking normal for the rest of his life.

He remembered driving it to his shithole apartment and showing his father what he got. He was so proud and thought his dad would be proud, too. He'd show him he was a man and that he could get things done. Instead, he was ridiculed for not getting the money and his father threatening to take the car and sell it to get his money back.

Billy didn't say anything. Just stood there looking down at his boots while his father ranted and raved. He got to keep the car but that part of the thrill was gone. As far as his father was concerned he'd never be a man.

Billy didn't know from family, either. What other people had made no sense in his world. When he was a kid in school he'd go over to some other kid's houses and they'd have 'family dinners' and shit like that and it just felt awkward to him. A TV dinner sufficed if he ate at all.

Then there was Joe. Four years younger and the only thing Billy would ever admit to loving. Joe was the only reason Billy hadn't just taken off. He'd thought about it. Even thought about taking Joe with him. But he stayed. He had his gang, his drug trade, his father's rule and Joe to make a man out of and he'd be damned if it was gonna be the way his father did it to him.

It was clear from the start that Joe was his responsibility. Sometimes Billy wondered how his father trusted him to make something of Joe when he still called Billy a fag and a fuck up and shit most of the time.

He didn't mind, though. Joe worshipped him. He'd do anything to be like Billy. He was a little too hyper sometimes but he was eager so Billy finally gave him his chance.

Initiation was easy. It didn't matter who the victim was. Fuck it. You just do it.

The target was easy, too. Flashing his high beams at Billy was the sign. It was time for Joe to become a man.

Scared little fucker almost didn't go through with it. Then that clerk was screaming his fucking head off so Billy had to take care of that. No time for remembering just then. Just shoot the fucker and egg on the little pussy to grow up and do this.

Billy remembered it all as he stood over Hume and what was left of his family. This motherfucker killed his brother. Took the only thing he loved away from him.

The nice girl of a wife was screaming, the kid was pleading, Hume was begging for mercy … reminding him once again and this time it didn't fucking matter. He wasn't going to feel the pain this time. Fuck that. Let him watch his wife and kid die because of him … him and his fucking nice house and his nice car and his family dinners and his pride.

Billy's lip twitched a little then he pulled the trigger.

_Nobody fucks with Billy Darley._


End file.
